


Becoming a Ghost

by haggarrrd



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haggarrrd/pseuds/haggarrrd
Summary: Grantaire doesn't need to eat, he just needs everyone else to see that.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 79





	1. breathe me

Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ eyes on the back of his head. 

He pulls a bowl from the dishwasher, allowing the cloud of hot steam to wash over his face, then shivers as the dots of water turn cold on his skin. Enjolras is always watching him these days. 

If he could, Grantaire would crawl into the dishwasher, curl up in between the plates and bowls just to get away from the feeling of Enjolras’ sad eyes following him around the room. Enjolras could shut the door and turn the dial up to hot. Maybe then Grantaire would actually feel warm. 

Grantaire shivers again at the thought and hopes that Enjolras didn’t notice. Enjolras has a plate of muffins in front of him, he’s picking at one as he pretends to read his paper. Grantaire knows that he noticed him shivering, and his mind has probably turned it into more than it actually was. Enjolras notices everything, and worries about everything he sees. 

Grantaire doesn’t acknowledge that he’s given Enjolras plenty of reason to worry. 

It would make Enjolras’ day if Grantaire strode over to the table and swallowed a muffin down in twenty seconds, but he can’t. He doesn’t need a muffin. He pulls the bowl out of the dishwasher and sets it on the counter; the porcelain feels heavy in his hands even though it’s one of the small bowls they use for dessert. 

“These muffins are really good. Jehan made them.” Enjolras offers when he notices that Grantaire has been standing there staring at the bowl for too long. His voice is so casual, he could be discussing the weather rather than hinting at the fact that his boyfriend can’t eat a whole meal without crying. “Why don’t you have one? Or there are some waffles left over from breakfast yesterday, I know they’re your favourite. I’ll heat one up for you if you want.”

Grantaire cannot let himself have a muffin because he is so hungry that he will eat the entire plate if he so much as tastes one. And he doesn’t want the waffles that Enjolras made him eat yesterday. He can still feel the fat bubbling under his skin from yesterday morning, and it makes him feel sick. 

Instead, he points at the bowl on the counter, ignoring the way it sits next to the bottle of antidepressants that Enjolras left there. “I’m having cereal.”

Without looking, Grantaire knows that Enjolras’ eyes are now fixated on the meal plan stuck to the fridge door. It came with the discharge papers when they finally let him out of the hospital six months ago, and Enjolras treats it like the bible. Every so often, on the really bad days, Grantaire takes it down and throws it out, hoping that he’ll never have to look at another meal plan in his life, but Enjolras always replaces it with a brand new one and says nothing about its mysterious disappearance.

Grantaire can’t stand constantly looking at that meal plan. 

Grantaire can tell that Enjolras isn’t going to leave for work until he’s seen him eat something. He’s usually gone by the time Grantaire can even manage to roll out of bed. Bahorel must have reported back to him about the far off look he got while they were hanging out yesterday. It happens when he hasn’t eaten for a while. 

“That’s not a big enough bowl to be a full serving.” Enjolras says carefully. A year ago that would have been enough to make Grantaire see red and call him a hypocrite because he never used to throw around words like full servings. Enjolras used to forget to eat just as much as Grantaire avoids it whenever he had exams. Not anymore. Enjolras hasn’t missed one meal in nine months. 

Grantaire just shrugs at him, but doesn’t turn around to meet his eyes. He struggles to lie to Enjolras when he has to look him in the eye. It’s the look of disappointment that destroys him. “My stomachs a little upset, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras’ voice is hard, suddenly taking on that tone that means he is not in the mood to have this fight. Again. Grantaire knows what the next words out of Enjolras’ mouth will be before he even says them. “Trust. That’s the issue here, Grantaire. I need to be able to trust you again.”

He grabs a bigger bowl and slams it onto the counter with a little more force than he means to. He pours the same amount of cereal into the bigger bowl as he would have done the smaller bowl, but he pours in a little more milk to try and make it look like a bigger serving. It isn’t convincing, but he doesn’t care. Enjolras doesn’t pretend not to frown at the bowl as Grantaire sit down across from him, but Grantaire pretends not to notice. He doesn’t want to eat it at all, but he’s too tired to face the argument that would erupt if he just sat there and let it go soggy as they both sat and watched. 

“You’re going to be late,” Grantaire says as he shoves a few flakes of bran into his mouth; if he can get Enjolras to just get up and leave before he finishes the bowl in front of him, then he won’t has as much to work off later.  
Enjolras just shakes his head, picks up another muffin and peels off the wrapper. Grantaire often wonders how his boyfriend eats so much and still looks so good. “I took the day off, I thought we could spend the day together. We could go out for lunch or something.”

Grantaire has a stack of excuses built up for situations like this, because Enjolras always orders too much food and then gets mad at him when he won’t eat it. Before Grantaire went into the hospital, they used to go to the movies or bowling, even though Enjolras is really awful at bowling. They used to have fun. Since Grantaire got out of the hospital, Enjolras only ever wants to go out to dinner, or to a litter diner down town that Combeferre recommends. 

Grantaire feels bad for sucking all of Enjolras’ favourite things out of their relationship; Enjolras never signed up for any of this. 

Grantaire’s problems were his own when they started dating, no one knew anything, no one knew to worry. Now Enjolras is twenty eight and he’s saddled with a boyfriend who can’t even be trusted to feed himself. Grantaire won’t be surprised when Enjolras breaks up with him, because he deserves so much more. 

“Are you okay?” When Grantaire snaps back to reality, Enjolras has one hand extended towards him, and the frown has returned to his face. Grantaire’s worried that it might become permanent one of these days. “You’ve been staring into your bowl for the last two minutes.” 

“I’m fine.” Grantaire smiles at him. He knows that he can’t really tell Enjolras what he’s thinking because it might make him cry. He does that a lot since Grantaire got out of the hospital, and he hates seeing Enjolras cry. Or he might get angry, and Grantaire doesn’t have enough energy to battle with him. “I’m still half asleep.”

“Breakfast will wake you up.” Enjolras taps the side of his bowl and cocks an eyebrow, an easy smile on his face. If it were anyone else, Grantaire would refuse to eat the rest based on the principle of it. Enjolras doesn’t back down when he gets angry with him though, like the rest of his friends do. Enjolras leans back and picks up the newspaper, “so lunch? Courf says that new continental buffet is amazing.”

“I’m going down to the studio. I have a piece to finish for a client.” Enjolras doesn’t need to know that Grantaire hasn’t been to the studio for two months, hasn’t had a client to finish a painting for, for even longer. The less Enjolras knows, the better. He lowers the paper and looks disappointed, and in so many ways Grantaire is too; he never gets to spend the day with Enjolras, which is one hundred percent his fault, but he can’t risk Enjolras getting suspicious again. He would send him away again in a heartbeat if he thought Grantaire wasn’t eating properly. Enjolras doesn’t understand that he doesn’t need to. 

“Well, how about we do dinner later then?” Grantaire opens his mouth to tell him that he’ll probably be there until late, or that he has errands to run after but Enjolras continues before he can even take a breath. “Please, Grantaire. We haven’t done anything together for so long. We could catch a movie after.”

Grantaire would love to go and see a movie, because that’s exactly what they used to do. But they’re not going to go see a movie unless they go to dinner first, and Grantaire does not want to go. “I want to, but I promised Eponine last week that we’d go to that new Italian place and I’ve already cancelled on her twice. Maybe I could meet you at the cinema after?”

It’s a good enough excuse. Eponine works at the studio. Enjolras does not know Eponine, has only met her once and did not like her, so he’s not likely to try and check up on him. 

Enjolras looks disappointed, maybe because he can tell that Grantaire is lying through his teeth, or maybe because he really does want to spend the day together, but he smiles and nods anyway, saying that he’ll look at the listings to see what’s on and text him later. Then he gets up and disappears to go and find his laptop, muttering that he might go into work after all, and Grantaire counts to twenty before getting up and pouring the rest of the cereal down the drain. 

He grabs an apple instead. He cuts it up into six pieces and sits at the table. He wants to exercise on the step climber they have in the basement, and if he’s going to work out he needs fuel. One time, before Enjolras knew about his need to be as small as possible, they went to the gym together. Enjolras was running fast on the treadmill, his face just barely turning red; Grantaire kept sneaking glances at his reflection in the window. He was running next to him, slower, struggling more than he was, and his edges blurred. Spots danced over his vision, and then everything in front of him disappeared. There was no Enjolras, no treadmill. 

When Grantaire woke up, Enjolras was looking down at him with fear on his face and an on site first aider was taking his blood pressure. It was so low he thought Grantaire should have been dead. His heart and lungs were too tired to keep up with all the exercise he was trying to do. Enjolras wanted to take him to the hospital, but Grantaire just wanted to go home. He swore that he was fine, just a little dehydrated and would feel better after getting something to drink. Enjolras gave in eventually and took him home, then refilled his glass every time Grantaire emptied it. Lesson learned. Working out requires fuel. Not cereals full of sugar and artificial colourings though.  
Enjolras smiles wide when he comes back into the kitchen and sees Grantaire sat there eating. He wouldn’t be smiling if he knew that the rest of the cereal had gone down the drain. 

Ten minutes later Enjolras leans down and kisses him on the forehead before walking out of the front door, promising to meet him at the cinema at six. Grantaire feels giddy at the thought of getting to spend the evening with Enjolras, and rushes down the stairs to spend a few hours on the step climber that he is forbidden to use when Enjolras is home. Enjolras threatened to get rid of it while Grantaire was in the hospital, but he promised him that his issue was with food and that he didn’t need to get rid of their possessions because of it. Grantaire knows that if Enjolras caught him chasing his sins away on the step climber, it would be gone within minutes and then he’d have to go back to sitting on a bus for an hour to get to the gym. 

Grantaire climbs for an hour, pushing himself so that his thighs burn and his chest feels tight. He doesn’t typically allow himself breaks, but he runs out of water and his head starts to spin so he climbs the stairs to his bedroom and lies under the covers, turning on the electric blanket Enjolras bought him onto full. He can’t pass out, not when he has plans with Enjolras that he can’t risk missing. So he sets his alarm and sleeps for two hours; when he wakes up he’ll have time for another hour on the step climber before he has to get ready to meet Enjolras. He’ll eat a few crackers on his way to the cinema, but for now he sleeps.


	2. i have lost myself again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras shakes his shoulder gently and he snaps back to reality, suddenly hyper aware that he was lost in his thoughts and the film is over. Enjolras worries when Grantaire gets lost in his thoughts; he can tell by the way Enjolras is staring at him with concerned eyes, “Grantaire, are you okay?”

Grantaire doesn’t want Enjolras to worry about him, doesn’t want him to be scared whenever Grantaire isn’t in his sight. He wants things to be like they were before Enjolras found out that he won’t (and doesn’t need to) eat. He isn’t sure that there’s a way for them to fix this now though; for Enjolras to trust him again he needs to eat like a normal person, which he won’t because he doesn’t need to – he just needs Enjolras to see that. 

He knows that he hurts Enjolras every day. 

He used to punish himself whenever he hurt Enjolras or made him worry; he used to drag a razor across the skin on his hip, leaving ruby red lines that stung for days. 

Enjolras cried when he saw them. They hadn’t had sex in months, Grantaire had been too scared of being discovered, but he was convinced that if he turned the lights off then Enjolras wouldn’t see them, and he didn’t, but he did feel them. The rough surface of his skin was so unusual that he gasped and snapped the lights on the second his fingers brushed them. Grantaire couldn’t get his boxers back on in time. 

That’s when Enjolras started crying. 

He held Grantaire close and begged him to tell him why, he thought things were getting better; Grantaire had been out of the hospital for a month at that point, was eating a little better and seemed happier. Grantaire couldn’t tell Enjolras that he was hurting himself because he was punishing himself for hurting him. Enjolras would hate himself if he knew that. 

So Grantaire just pushed him away and got dressed, sat on the side of the bed with his back to Enjolras; he was so ashamed he couldn’t even look him in the eye. That made Enjolras cry even harder, and he whispered, “why can’t you be happy?” 

Grantaire winced at that, because the thing that Enjolras could never understand was that he was trying. 

He swore that he’d never cut himself again and no matter how much he wants to sometimes, he never has. When he looks at himself in the mirror though, or sees the hurt in Enjolras’ eyes he really wants to. Sometimes he even grabs his razor and thinks about it, but Enjolras checks for fresh cuts, and he can’t stand to hurt him that much again. 

Grantaire thinks about that as he gets out of a taxi across the street from the movie theatre and sees Enjolras standing out front with a look of worry all over his face. He’s twenty minutes late so he understands why Enjolras is worried; the last time he didn’t show up Grantaire was passed out on the bathroom floor. He hadn’t eaten for three days and his body had had enough; the paramedics said he was lucky that Enjolras had showed up when he did or he would have been in a coffin instead of a hospital bed. When Grantaire woke up and saw the pain on Enjolras’ face he wished that he was in a coffin. That’s how Enjolras found out, how he wound up in the hospital for two months. 

“Enjolras!” Grantaire calls as he jogs across the street, and the look of worry turns into a look of annoyance. He can’t tell Enjolras that he was late because he spent fifteen minutes staring at himself in the mirror, pinching the fat on his stomach between his fingers and crying at how much there was. “I’m so sorry I’m late, the service at the restaurant was terrible and I spilt something down my shirt so I had to run home and get changed so I called a taxi but then there was traffic.” 

“You could have called, or at least answered your phone. I’ve been calling you for the last twenty minutes.” 

“It never rang.” Grantaire almost snaps that if Enjolras would let him drive again (he took his keys when he crashed his car into the side of the supermarket, the doctors told him not to drive after that) but he knows that Enjolras isn’t really angry with him. He pats his pockets down, trying to find his phone so he can prove to Enjolras that he didn’t get any calls, but it isn’t there. It’s on the dresser at home. “I’m sorry. I forgot my phone.” 

“It’s fine,” Enjolras sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Come on, the movie starts in ten minute and I want popcorn.” 

While Enjolras buys himself popcorn, Grantaire takes himself over to the drinks counter and orders a black coffee. Enjolras comes back with a bucket of popcorn in one hand, and a bag of sweets in the other; he hands the chocolate over to Grantaire and he pockets it without a word. They both know he won’t eat it. 

They sit through the movie, their hands intertwined on the armrest, and it’s two hours of bliss. Sat there in the dark, they’re just Enjolras and Grantaire – no hurt, no eating disorders. Enjolras can’t mention the fact that Grantaire doesn’t eat properly, and he doesn’t even look over to see why Grantaire has the bag of chocolate open on his lap even though he hasn’t taken a single piece. 

If their life together could always be this way, Grantaire’s pretty sure that everything would almost be perfect. And then when he reaches that magic number and he’s beautiful, they’ll heave everything they need. Enjolras won’t hurt anymore, and Grantaire will be small. 

He ignores the voice in the back of his head that tell him that even when gets to 100 pounds, it won’t be enough. He will always want more, to be smaller. He can’t live like that though, without a goal. 

Before he went into the hospital, he was 106 pounds. He was so close, but the doctors pumped him full of sugar and useless calories and blew him back up to 140 pounds, even though he knew that the ideal weight for his height was 128 pounds. He cried when he saw the numbers on the scale, so they locked him up for another month because they told him his mind wasn’t healthy. He never cried in front of the doctors again. 

Enjolras shakes his shoulder gently and he snaps back to reality, suddenly hyper aware that he was lost in his thoughts and the film is over. Enjolras worries when Grantaire gets lost in his thoughts; he can tell by the way Enjolras is staring at him with concerned eyes, “Grantaire, are you okay?” 

He smiles loosely and nods, because he is, and he won’t ruin their evening by being anything but okay. 

“The film made me tired,” he laughs and the yawn that follows is automatic. He only knows the vague plot to the film, doesn’t even really know how it ended. “I thought it was really good. I really liked the guy with the metal arm.” 

Enjolras smiles, the real kind of smile, where his dark eyes crease up in the corner and makes Grantaire’s stomach flutter. God, he really, truly adores Enjolras. He didn’t know it was possible to love someone as much as he loves Enjolras. Sometimes he wonders why he has to feel the need to be small since he knows that it hurts Enjolras so much, but he can’t change who he is. He’d really like to, cause he wants to make Enjolras as happy as he makes him. 

“Let’s go home,” Enjolras leans in and kisses him on the forehead, then stands up and shrugs his coat on. While his back is turned, Grantaire grabs half of the chocolate out of the bag and throws them under the chair next to him. He pockets the rest so he can show Enjolras just how much he eat later. He stands up, slides his hand into Enjolras’ and they walk out of the cinema slowly. Enjolras turns to him as they’re walking out of the front door, “did you have a good time with Eponine?” 

“I did,” Grantaire smiles, but it’s tight and he knows that if Enjolras looks at him now, he’ll know he’s lying. “We ordered the biggest garlic bread to start. With cheese, just the way I like it. How was work?” 

Enjolras can really talk when he gets started about work, so when he launches into a rant about what the new boy did, Grantaire knows that his story has been bought. He prefers listening to Enjolras, hearing about how he fills his days and offering small opinions when necessary. He could listen to Enjolras talk forever, about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I got pretty unsure about posting this because I felt like the last chapter kind of flopped, but I hate feeling like I've wasted time writing for no one to see it so he it is. 
> 
> Feedback would be really appreciated!


	3. wrap me up, unfold me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is his boyfriend turned baby sitter.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Enjolras whispers, and his voice is so distraught that all Grantaire wants to do is take him in his arms and tell him that things will be okay, he’s on a mission right now but things will be okay. “How can you have lost a pound since last week?”

Every Wednesday Enjolras drags Grantaire out of bed early so that he can weigh him before he goes to work. He writes the numbers down in a little notebook and calls the doctors once a month to report back. Grantaire tries not to resent him for it. 

When he first came home, Enjolras used to weigh him every morning and reported it back to the doctors once a week. Grantaire cried every morning back then, the numbers were so high. 

Grantaire goes straight into the bathroom and chugs the bottle of water he stashes under the sink until his belly is sore and swollen and makes sure that he doesn’t take a shit just so that he’ll weigh a little bit more, then Enjolras makes him take off his robe; he used to sew rolls of pennies into the lining to deceive him into thinking he weighed more than he actually does. He hasn’t been able to wear his robe on weigh in mornings ever since Enjolras threw it in the wash and found out.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire mumbles, only half meaning it. “It’s still above trouble. I’ve been trying.”

“I know you have, R” Enjolras says softly and strokes a hand through Grantaire’s long hair, planting a kiss on his forehead. Enjolras looks him in the eye and there’s something there, something that Grantaire doesn’t like. “But I need you to try harder. If you lose much more I’ll have to call Doctor Valjean. I really don’t want to, Grantaire, but I can’t just sit back and let you kill yourself. I just can’t." 

Grantaire just stares at him; he isn’t suicidal. Sure, he’s depressed and angry but he’s happy too, because he has Enjolras. There isn't one part of Grantaire that wants to die, he just wants to be perfect. It hurts him that Enjolras thinks he wants to die. He exhales slowly and closes his eyes, stepping off of the scale, “is that what you think, that I want to die? You’re wrong, Enjolras.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore Grantaire.”

When he opens his eyes, he’s alone in the bathroom. Enjolras has never walked out on him before, and Grantaire worries that he’s getting sick of having a boyfriend that he has to constantly look after. He doesn’t chase after him though, he’s too shocked that Enjolras actually thinks he wants to die, so he just stands there, half hoping that Enjolras will come back, until he hears him leave for work.

He knows that he hurts Enjolras every day, knows that Enjolras doesn’t trust him, but he doesn’t like to think about how hurt Enjolras would be if he knew that Grantaire had messed with the scales. The hospital recommended them, reassured him that they were reliable and accurate; they said digital scales couldn’t be tampered with, but Grantaire found out how to make them show him as fifteen pounds heavier than he actually is. 

His real scales are tucked away under a loose floorboard in their closet. 

He pisses out the water he guzzled before Enjolras weighed him, then gets the scales out from their hiding place and carries them back to the bathroom. Enjolras’ scales put him at 121.5 pounds, but then he steps onto his ultra reliable scale he sees 106 flash across the screen and he can’t wipe the smile off of his face. 

106 is goal number one, a good step on the way to 100. If Enjolras knew, he’d force him back into treatment so quickly, because there are rules about how much he should weigh, and he is breaking them. He’s supposed to be dedicated to recovery, but he doesn’t need to recover. His body hates dragging around the extra weight. The smaller he is, the clearer he thinks, and he feels stronger. As he gets smaller, he feels happy. 

He knows that he shouldn’t be so happy; he deceives his boyfriend every day and causes him no end of hurt. He puts his own needs before anyone else’s, and he’s well aware that that makes him a bad person. He really wishes that he wasn’t, but he has never needed anything as much as he needs to be thin, to be as small as possible. 

With that in mind, he goes down to the basement and spends his morning on the step climber, ignoring the burning in his thighs and chest.   
~~~~  
“Grantaire?” Enjolras shakes him awake carefully; he worked out for a few hours in the morning, then stopped to chug water and eat a couple of rice cakes. Normally he’d spread ketchup or mustard on the tops, but he is so close to 100 that he won’t even consider consuming useless calories. He used to put hot sauce on one because then it felt like a punishment for eating, but Enjolras won’t buy hot sauce anymore. He slept for a while after that, too tired to do anything else. “Can we talk?”

He sits up and rubs his eyes, suddenly very awake. He’s always known that one day Enjolras will break up with him; he thought that he was prepared for it, but now that it’s here his heart is in his throat and he thinks that he might vomit. 

“First of all, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for walking out this morning.” Enjolras doesn’t look him in the eyes as he says it, and it’s then that Grantaire realises that Enjolras isn’t here to break up with him, but rather to apologise to him. He thinks that it’s so absurd that he almost laughs out loud. “I know I should have kept it together, you don’t need me behaving like that. I know you’re trying and I know, believe me, I know that this is hard for you but I... I don’t know, I feel like there’s something I’m missing. Do you still eat when I’m not here to make sure that you do?”

Grantaire flushes red; he used to leave little trails of evidence around the house—a few bits of cereal on the kitchen counter, ketchup splattered in the microwave and dirty dishes in the sink. He’s been slacking as of late, “of course I do!”

“I want to believe you, R, I really do.” Enjolras smiles gently, a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Things just aren’t adding up; you’re losing weight and you can’t afford to lose any more. I always check the fridge before I go to work and again when I get home and there’s never any food gone. I’m scared you’re slipping back into old habits.”

“I’m fine,” Grantaire says through his teeth; he’s angry because he knows that Enjolras is too close to figuring out the truth and if Enjolras figures out that he isn’t eating, he’ll send him back to the hospital and then he’ll have to start all over again. 

“I’ve spoken to my boss,” Enjolras continues as if Grantaire had never spoken. “I know you’re not going to like this, but he’s allowing me to work from home for the next few weeks.”

Enjolras is his boyfriend turned babysitter. 

“I’m not a child!”

Enjolras holds up a hand to silence him, “Grantaire I never said that you’re a child, but you’re sick and we both know that. I don’t want to smother you or keep an eye on you twenty-four seven but I need to know that you’re okay. I can’t keep going to work and worrying that you’re not alright. I can’t keep walking up our driveway and worrying what’s on the other side of the door.”

Grantaire feels guilty at that, but he turns his back to Enjolras regardless and burrows himself beneath the covers. His reaction is enough of a confession and he knows it; if he wants Enjolras to believe that he’s eating properly then he wouldn’t have a problem with having him around. He’d embrace it in fact. But he’s terrified because having Enjolras around means having to eat all of his meals, and most likely eat them in full if Enjolras insists on sitting and watching him eat, which means he’ll have to resort to plan B.

He doesn’t like to purge; the thought of it makes him shiver in repulsion, but he’ll do it if it means avoiding seeing the numbers on the scale go up. 

“I know you’re mad at me now Grantaire but one day you’ll realise that I’m only doing this because I love you.” Enjolras whispers, the hurt evident in his voice. “I’m making dinner, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

And then he’s alone again, so Grantaire jumps out of bed and crawls into their closet to pull away the loose board. There, next to his scales, is his emergency kit. He pulls the bag out and grabs a box of laxatives, swallowing three down with the stale water beside his bed. If Enjolras is going to force him to eat, then he’ll just have to be more creative. 

Enjolras calls him down to eat far too quickly. The kitchen table is full of food that Grantaire does not need. He sits down in front of his plate; he needs to play along if he wants Enjolras to get off his back. 

“Can I have the salad please?” 

Enjolras hands him a casserole dish full of pasta instead and shoots him a dark look. 

His stomach tightens; there’s no room inside him for this, but he takes the dish with both hands and puts it next to his plate. Enjolras’ eyes lock in on his hand reaching for the fork. He takes one scoop and lets it splat onto his plate; the corners of Enjolras’ mouth turn down slightly. 

Grantaire reaches over and takes two slices of garlic bread, balancing them on the edge of his plate. He grabs the salad and fills the rest of his plate with it. Just because he dishes it out, doesn’t mean he has to swallow it; he is strong enough to stay empty. 

“How was your day?” Grantaire asks as he spreads his napkin in his lap. He divides the food into four parts, then eight, until all of the meal is sectioned into bites. Enjolras watches as he starts talking about his day, but he doesn’t say anything. He shoves some of the salad into his mouth. He isn’t supposed to do this; when he first came home, Enjolras would have told him it was disordered behaviour, but now it’s just classed as a battle not worth fighting because at least Grantaire’s eating. 

Grantaire shoves the food around the plate as he eats, squeezing the tines of his fork on the pasta. Every bite gets chewed ten times before he swallows. Enjolras has water with his meal, but Grantaire always has to have some form of juice, because that’s extra calories. 

At some point Enjolras’ phone rings in the other room, and he hops up to grab it while spluttering out apologies. Grantaire takes the opportunity to sweep some of the bread and pasta into his napkin; he folds it up and shoves it into his pocket. 

The emergency pills will do the rest of the work for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter, it's honestly so great to hear people's thoughts. 
> 
> Feedback is welcome as always!


	4. there's no one else to blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is fully aware that no number will ever be small enough. The only number that he’ll ever be happy with is zero.

At three am Grantaire wakes up screaming. There’s a pain in his stomach that hurts so much little white spots dance across his vision.

Enjolras shoots up in bed and slaps the light switch then leans across to smooth back the hair stuck to Grantaire’s forehead, frantically asking what’s wrong and what hurts. It takes a few minutes for Grantaire to catch his breath but when he does he shakily asks Enjolras to help him to the bathroom. Enjolras practically has to drag him across the hall because Grantaire can’t get his legs to work, can’t even think about anything other than the pain in his stomach. A hundred knives are slashing at his insides. 

He drops his draws and plonks himself down on the toilet and lets his head loll between his knees. He can’t decide if he needs to ask Enjolras to get him a bucket to puke in or not.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” Grantaire pants. “I’m okay.”

“Grantaire you are not okay!” Enjolras bursts; his voice is strained and sounds like it could break at any moment. Grantaire peeks up at him, but his head feels too heavy so he lets it fall back between his legs. “What did you eat for lunch? It could be food poisoning.”

Grantaire cannot confess that he swallowed three laxatives to atone for the meal that Enjolras was going to force him to eat so he lies and says that he made himself an omelette and might not have cooked it properly. He grits his teeth and clamps his lips together to stop a groan from escaping and worrying Enjolras even more. 

Grantaire knows what is wrong; he has deprived his body for so long that it isn’t used to all of the carbs and sugars he had to eat while Enjolras watched over him. Mix that with the laxatives and he is in a self induced hell. 

He wishes that he’d just thrown the food across the room and refused to eat it. 

“Should I call an ambulance?” Enjolras asks. He’s pacing back and forth in their tiny bathroom, his worry eating away at the floorboards. He grabs a cloth from the cabinet next to the sink and runs in under the cold water then places it on the back of Grantaire’s neck. 

“No.” If Grantaire lets him call an ambulance, he’s busted; he’d be locked up before the sun rises. Besides, he doesn’t need an ambulance. “My stomach’s just upset, don’t worry so much.”

The look that Enjolras flashes him is so dirty Grantaire’s surprised that he doesn’t drop dead on the spot. He gets off of the toilet and flushes twice. His stomach is still in knots as the laxatives do their work to make him clean and empty; he’s very aware that he’ll spend the rest of the night hobbling between their bedroom and the bathroom. 

Enjolras helps him back into bed then pulls the covers up to his chin before climbing into his side of the bed. He’s shivering so he curls up on his side and presses his face into Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras wraps his arms around him and strokes his back until he falls asleep. 

He gets up multiple times throughout the remainder of the night until he is finally empty and his insides are sparkling. He gets back into bed around six am and is burning up so much that he daren’t so much as touch Enjolras. He stares at the ceiling and his edges blur and his heart starts trying to escape from its cage, banging on his ribs in an attempt to obtain freedom. He tries to take his pulse but he can’t count fast enough. He can taste metal. Grantaire knows that he should wake Enjolras up because his pulse is doing double time and he’s starting to worry about himself, which he never does, but if he does Enjolras will take one look at him and call an ambulance. Grantaire cannot afford to be locked away again, cannot be blown back up to 140 pounds, so he rolls onto his side and curls himself into a tiny ball and waits for sleep to take him. 

~~~~~  
Enjolras wakes him up around ten and props him up with two of their fluffy pillows; Grantaire doesn’t even fight him. His energy levels are in the gutter, and his muscles ache more than they usually do. Enjolras hands him a pint of water and the glass is heavy in his hands; last night took it out of him, almost to the point where he’s too scared to try it again.

He knows that he will though, even if it terrifies him. 

“Here, Google says that this will be good for your stomach.” Enjolras places a plate on his lap with two slices of dry wholemeal toast on if. Of course Enjolras wouldn’t relent on the whole food thing. He sits down on his side of the bed and pretends not to grin when Grantaire picks it up without protest. 

He’s too tired to fight with Enjolras today, and all he wants to do is go back to sleep. He’ll fight his battles over something more threatening than dry toast. 

As soon as he’s finished eating he hands the plate back to Enjolras, nothing left but crumbs and crust, and downs the water. Enjolras smiles widely at him and lays down with him, strokes his back until he falls back to sleep.

When he wakes up again he has some of his energy back, so when Enjolras brings him soup and crackers for lunch, he eats the crackers and half of the soup before stopping suddenly and clamping a hand over his mouth. He doesn’t really need to be sick but Enjolras doesn’t know that, and he’ll play on the whole being sick thing for as long as he can get away with. He runs to the bathroom and forces the meagre contents of his stomach into the bowl. 

He feels a little more satisfied when his stomach is empty. His stomach only likes to be small and empty, it hates him for shoving in food. 

Enjolras doesn’t suspect a thing, and he doesn’t force him to eat the rest of the soup either. Instead he tucks Grantaire in like a child and plants a kiss on his forehead, then goes to clean up the lunchtime mess and do some work. 

Grantaire used to feel bad about lying to Enjolras, but now he sees it as a necessary evil. One day, when he is small and Enjolras finally realises that he doesn’t need to eat like everyone else, he won’t have to lie. 

Grantaire is fully aware that no number will ever be small enough. The only number that he’ll ever be happy with is zero.

Even though he’s exhausted and he can feel his energy levels depleting, he forces himself out of bed and does sit ups until his stomach burns, all the while listening out for the steady tapping of Enjolras on his laptop. He will not allow himself to slack on his quest just because he feels like he’s dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really a shorter filler chapter that I don't love, but I couldn't figure out a way to rewrite it. My dog also had an operation this week so I've had about 10 hours sleep all week and I feel like whatever I try to replace this with would be worse haha. 
> 
> Feedback is always massively appreciated!


	5. i am broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst part is that Grantaire knows he’s right; he’s going to ruin them, but he can’t do anything to stop it.

Grantaire loves Enjolras, he really does, and he loves nothing more than spending time with him but with him working from home, Grantaire feels smothered. He never thought that he would want anything other than to spend all day every day with Enjolras, and if wasn’t so fixated on saying ‘Grantaire you need to eat this, Grantaire you really should eat more of that, trust Grantaire, trust, trust, trust’ Grantaire thinks that the last two weeks would have been perfect. 

Grantaire ends up inventing plans with Eponine just to get away for a while. He really should make plans to go and actually hang out with Eponine one of these days because he really does need a friend, but he can’t risk having more people than necessary in his life. He doesn’t need more people watching every single thing he eats. 

He sits on a bus for an hour and goes to the gym instead of making plans with Eponine.

They weren’t always like this; Grantaire lying and Enjolras watching his every move. They were just like any other couple and their relationship was amazing. Thursday night was date night, Grantaire would meet Enjolras outside of his office and they’d go to the cinema to see double bills of bad movies, or go bowling and end up bowling nothing but gutterballs. They’d have little play fights in the lounge and spend their weekends in bed. They rarely have sex anymore, and when they do Enjolras is so gentle it could make Grantaire cry; his touches are hesitant and careful, like he’s scared that if he touches him too much he’ll break. Grantaire’s pretty sure that Enjolras just doesn’t want to see him naked and that’s why he never wants to have sex anymore. Grantaire doesn’t even blame him. He doesn’t like to see his own body, he doesn’t know how Enjolras stands it, but when he’s finally small things will go back to the way they were before Enjolras knew the truth. 

Enjolras will finally be able to mean it when he says that he’s beautiful, that he’s perfect. 

Grantaire isn’t stupid. He knows that he isn’t beautiful or perfect no matter how many times Enjolras whispers it to him as they fall asleep. They will lay in bed and Enjolras will be able to run his fingertips across the smooth bones of his ribs and they’ll both be happy. 

Grantaire knows that Enjolras can’t see the bigger picture now. He only sees Grantaire deny himself of the things that he does not really need. He doesn’t see that Grantaire doesn’t need food because he is fat and greedy and too big. One day he will be nothing but bones and they will be happy again.  
~~~~~  
“Where were you?” Enjolras asks the second Grantaire walks into the kitchen. He’s sat there at the table, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his face is stormy. Grantaire opens his mouth to spout of the lie that he’s rehearsed over and over again in his head but Enjolras holds up a hand to silence him. “Don’t even try to tell me that you were with Eponine. She called for you while you were out. Apparently she hasn’t seen you for months. So let’s try that again, where were you?”

Grantaire had been so convinced that Eponine was the perfect alibi that he didn’t even consider the fact that Eponine might actually want to spend time with him; he’s been so abhorrently rude to her over the last six months that he didn’t think she would even consider him a friend anymore. 

“I just went out,” Grantaire whispers; he cannot admit that he was at the gym running away from his sins. He can’t tell Enjolras the truth, but he can’t think of another lie fast enough. “I’m sorry I lied. I just wanted to go somewhere for a few hours where no one knew me as the crazy guy who can’t be trusted to eat a meal on his own. I just wanted to go somewhere where no one would look at me like I’m some crazy nutcase.”

“I don’t look at you like that.” Enjolras looks like he’s been slapped, and Grantaire wishes that he could explain that he just wanted time away from food. Enjolras lets his arms drop and leans back in his chair, “you didn’t see her the other week either, did you?”

Grantaire looks down at his shoes and flushes red, “no.”

Enjolras’ face turns and he suddenly looks so sad that Grantaire can hear his heart breaking all the way across the room. “Grantaire, how am I supposed to trust you when you can lie to my face like that? How am I supposed to believe a word that comes out of your mouth when you obviously have no problem lying to me?”

“I don’t like lying to you.” Grantaire takes a step towards him, but Enjolras just stands up and paces away from him to stand at the other side of the room. He really doesn’t like lying to Enjolras; every time he lies to him he hates himself a little more, but Enjolras won’t accept his truth.

“If you didn’t like lying to me Grantaire, you wouldn’t do it.” Enjolras pushes off of the counter and starts to walk out of the room but Grantaire darts in front of him. For a second, Enjolras just stares down at him and there is so much contempt in his dark eyes that it takes Grantaire’s breath away. “You’re going to ruin us Grantaire.”

Then Enjolras just walks out, and it takes Grantaire a few seconds to run after him but by the time he gets to the front door Enjolras is in his car and he’s back out of the driveway. 

The worst part is that Grantaire knows he’s right; he’s going to ruin them, but he can’t do anything to stop it.  
~~~~~~  
Grantaire can’t move. He’s rooted to the spot on their porch, staring wide eyed at the space on the driveway where Enjolras was parked just minutes ago.

Or was it hours?

He can’t remember. He’s been standing there staring for so long that time doesn’t even feel real any more. He’s terrified that Enjolras isn’t going to come back, that he’s driven him away once and for all. All he can do is stand there and wait for Enjolras to get back (he’s not coming back). Then he’ll apologise and let Enjolras yell at him and he’ll admit that he’s a piece of trash that doesn’t deserve anything. Enjolras already knows that, but Grantaire will still admit it to him. 

He should have known that one day he’d get caught up in all his stories and Enjolras would catch him out in a lie. He tells too many, sometimes he can’t even keep up with them. 

Deep down, Grantaire knows that he deserves to be alone because then he won’t be able to make anyone miserable. He knows that Enjolras is miserable, there’s no denying it. He makes Enjolras miserable and Enjolras deserves so much better. Enjolras is the sun and Grantaire is a black storm cloud. Nobody deserves to be burdened down by him. Sometimes Grantaire thinks that he should just break up with Enjolras even though it would kill him, because Enjolras could be so much happier without him. 

He’s too selfish to leave Enjolras. Grantaire is the most selfish person he knows. 

A laugh bubbles up and escapes from his lips. He lied because he wants to spend a few hours away from Enjolras and his obsession with food, and now he’s driven him away for good. He should be happy, because Enjolras can go on with his life and be happy, and Grantaire can starve in peace. But he isn’t. God, he really isn’t happy. 

“Dammit Grantaire, what the hell are you doing!” Enjolras shouts. The sudden noise pulls him out of his thoughts. Enjolras is back; his face is defeated and angry, but he’s back. “How long have you been standing there, you’re soaking wet!”

Grantaire hadn’t even realised that it was raining. 

Enjolras pulls him inside and sits him down on the couch then disappears and comes back a few minutes later with a towel. He wraps it around his shoulders and crouches down in front of him so that they’re at eye level. “First of all, I’m sorry that I walked out like that, I should have kept calm but you’ve got to understand, I’m trying to trust you and you’re making that impossible.”

“I know,” Grantaire whispers and grabs Enjolras’ hand. He’s scared that if he lets go Enjolras will leave again. “I’m a piece of shit and I don’t deserve you. You’d be so much happier without me.” 

“I didn’t say that,” Enjolras interrupts, but his face is defeated and there’s no fight in his voice. Grantaire can tell he believes it too, he just thinks he’s too fragile to hear it. “I love you Grantaire. It’s not always easy but I’m not giving up on you. I just... I need you to be honest with me. Please, no more lies. I don’t exactly like begging you to eat or having to know where you are all the time but you don’t know what it was like seeing you on the floor that day. I thought you were dead and every time you’re not with me I worry that I’m going to come back and you really will be dead.”

It’s like a dagger to the heart. He knows that he hurts Enjolras, but not that much. He didn’t know that Enjolras goes out every day expecting him to be dead. Enjolras looks up at him and Grantaire can tell he’s about to cry. 

Before all of this, Grantaire had never seen Enjolras cry, but he does it all the time now and it’s heartbreaking.

“Please, Grantaire.” Enjolras’ voice is small and tired, and Grantaire hates himself for being the cause of it. “Promise me you’ll be honest with me.”

Grantaire doesn’t want to agree to it, doesn’t want to say that he’ll be honest when he knows that he won’t. But every second he spends not answering, Enjolras’ face gets more and more distraught, and then he starts crying and something in him breaks. So he tells one more lie, and it kills him. “I promise. I’ll never lie to you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know with this fic, everything just feels too short and not fleshed out enough. But it's partly up now so I'll probably finish it. 
> 
> Feedback would be appreciated.


	6. i have been here many times before

“Grantaire, I think we need to talk.” Enjolras says one afternoon while they’re sat on the couch watching a film, a bowl of popcorn sat ignored between them. Things have been tense between them since Enjolras found out that he’s a liar, and Enjolras has been in a foul mood with him all day because he lost another two pounds this week. Grantaire messed with the scales again, but clearly not enough. He is well past being able to placate Enjolras by saying he’s still above danger. Grantaire immediately sits up straight and stares wide eyed at Enjolras. He’s perfectly aware what the next few words out of his mouth will be. “I want you to go in for an evaluation.” 

Oh. He wasn’t expecting that. Other than the weight loss, he’s been doing better at hiding things from Enjolras and leaving little trails of food around. “Why?” 

“I’m not stupid, R.” Enjolras whispers, his face so incredibly sad it makes Grantaire’s heart break. You should be with someone normal, Grantaire thinks. Someone who can make you happy. He doesn’t say it out loud. Enjolras continues, “I’ve been watching you eat every day for the last three weeks but you’re still losing weight and it’s starting to scare me. I’ve made you an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. It’s only an evaluation. If you’re really okay, then it’s no big deal.” 

“I’m not going.” Grantaire says through gritted teeth, trying very hard not to sound like he’s whining. “Enjolras I don’t need to go. You’ve seen me eating, what more do you want from me? I have a high metabolism and a small frame, there’s nothing to worry about.” 

“Cut the bullshit Grantaire.” Enjolras snaps, his voice low and angry. He picks up the remote and turns the TV off. “It’s not up for discussion, you’re going. I’ll call Doctor Valjean if I have to but I need to know that things aren’t getting bad again and I’m really scared they are.” 

Grantaire panics; he can’t think of anything to say, can’t think of a lie fast enough. If he goes in for an evaluation they’ll stick him on their super accurate scales and see that he’s only 94 pounds and they’ll lock him up. He can’t go back to the hospital. The last time he was there they forced food into him until he gained the weight back pound by pound, then released him at 140 with a folder that planned out his entire life. 

“You aren’t supposed to push me into things. I’m supposed to feel safe with food.” 

Enjolras scoffs, “that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. What, am I supposed to watch and let you starve yourself to death? I wish I understood what goes on inside you.” 

“I don’t need the same things you need,” Grantaire says coldly. 

“You don’t think you need to eat?” Enjolras roars, fury crossing his face. Grantaire isn’t sure what he’s trying to achieve. “Grantaire you look like you’re dying, I don’t understand how there could be any weight left for you to lose. How can you think you don’t need to eat?” 

Grantaire just stares at him. His head is spinning. Enjolras’ expression softens as he reaches out to stroke a hand down Grantaire’s cheek. His touch is so tentative and gentle, as though he’s afraid Grantaire will shatter like glass. “Please, Grantaire. Please eat.” 

Something inside him snaps. He’ll never be able to make Enjolras understand and it infuriates him. He grabs handfuls of the popcorn that’s sat untouched between them and shoves it in his mouth, screaming as he chews, “is this what you want?! Look, I’m eating! Grantaire’s eating! Are you happy now?” 

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, just sits there with a dumbfounded look on his face, his jaw slack. 

He can’t do this. Before he even realises what he’s doing, Grantaire’s on his feet and he’s running for the front door. Enjolras tries to grab him by the waist as he sprints past, then gets up to try and stop him but Grantaire is faster. Grantaire spends all his time running away from his demons, he can run away from Enjolras too. 

He’s at the front door before he can even process what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. Enjolras is calling after him and their neighbours are staring but he can’t stop running, even though by running he’s admitting he’s guilty. When (if) he goes back Enjolras will be there waiting to have him taken to the hospital. It’s inevitable now. 

He hides out at the park like the coward that he is. Enjolras will be worried but Grantaire can’t think about that. He can only think about the fact that unless he leaves, he’ll be back in the hospital by the morning and all that effort will have been for nothing. The thought of leaving Enjolras hurts, but not as much as the thought of being pumped full of fat does. 

Grantaire hates himself for needing to do this; does this disease really mean more to him than Enjolras? He’s not sure. He presses his fingertips into his cheekbones until it hurts. If he rammed his own head into a stone wall, he’s sure he could fracture every bone in his face. He drags his fingers down his face, over his throat to his collarbones. Small, but not small enough. 

He invents a plan. He’ll wait for a few hours, for however long it takes until Enjolras falls asleep and then he’ll sneak in and get some clothes and money, and he’ll find his hidden car keys and he’ll leave. He has nowhere else to go but it doesn’t matter. He will be doing Enjolras a favour; he’ll be able to move on and find a normal boyfriend who doesn’t come with all this aggravation. 

When Grantaire sneaks back into the house at two am, Enjolras is asleep on the sofa. He takes one look at him and then moves on. He can’t linger, can’t let himself properly look at Enjolras, or he’ll back out. He can’t listen to his heart when it screams at him to stay. 

He means to go upstairs, but as soon as he takes a look at Enjolras his mind turns off and his feet take him into the kitchen, straight to the fridge. 

This has happened before. When he can’t control his emotions, he can’t be strong. His mind shuts down before he can even realise it and his body takes over, letting itself have what Grantaire’s usually won't allow it. His mind is blank as he reaches into the fridge and grabs whatever he can find; he stuffs himself full of left over pasta and pizza, and the mini chocolate cupcakes that Enjolras eats after work. He grabs chocolate bars from the cupboard and wolfs them down without even thinking about. His body is feeding itself without his consent and he will hate himself for it in the morning. 

When Grantaire snaps out of it, he starts crying but he doesn’t even have to stick his fingers down his throat to atone for his sins; his body does that for him. He rushes over to the sink and hurls without even trying. There before him is all of the food he just purged on. But worse, it’s streaked with dark globs of blood. And there’s pain too, lots of pain. It feels as though the vomit rips his throat in two as it forces its way up, and it takes all he has in him to stay standing. His fingers cling tightly to the countertop; there’s a burning in his chest, a stabbing pain in his stomach and his head is spinning. 

He can’t breathe. 

The room comes into focus, and Grantaire just stares at the mess in the sink. He stares at those glistening red globs in the middle of his vomit and he can’t even lie to himself – he's scared. He can’t keep doing this but he can’t stop. For the first time in years, he’s really scared that he’s going to die. 

He needs help. 

He opens his mouth and screams for Enjolras as the edges of his vision blur and his throat burns. He has to sit down on the floor, his back pressed against the cabinet. He screams so loud that his throat feels as though it’s ripping all over again. He doesn’t ever care about that, because he’s so scared and he’s going to die, he just knows that he is. 

~~~~~~~ 

Enjolras wakes up with a start to the sound of a scream, and he’s initially disorientated; he can’t figure out why his neck is stiff of why he’s in the lounge, but he can hear Grantaire crying in the kitchen and jolts up. He doesn’t know why Grantaire is crying, but he’s worried immediately; Grantaire never cries. He rushes through to the kitchen and sees Grantaire sat there on the floor, his eyes going in and out of focus. 

“Grantaire!” Enjolras shouts as he runs over then drops to his knees in front of him. “Grantaire, what happened?” 

“I’m so sorry,” he cries, deep sobs that come from his chest. He’s so small Enjolras doesn’t know how he even functions. “I came home and I was so hungry and I just started eating and I couldn’t stop. I’ve been lying to you, I’m so sorry. I’ve been making myself throw up after I’ve been eating but I didn’t have to this time, it all just came back up and now I’m dying and I’ll never get to fix everything I did to you.” 

“Shhh, Grantaire. There’s nothing to fix.” He tries to keep the look of betrayal off of his face; he knows that Grantaire is sick and that he lies and goes behind his back so that he can protect himself, but it hurts to know that he thought he was helping but he was really just making Grantaire hurt himself in other ways. “You’re not dying, we’ll call Doctor Valjean in the morning and we’ll get you all the help you need.” 

“No,” Grantaire starts crying even harder and points to the sink. “There was blood, I’m dying Enjolras.” 

Enjolras shoots up and looks at the mess in the sink and true to his word, there’s streaks of dark red running through it. Enjolras doesn’t hesitate, he grabs his phone and calls an ambulance. He can’t let the panic he feels in his chest seep out into his voice; he needs to stay calm for Grantaire. 

This has never happened before. The blood in the vomit is terrifying, but Grantaire crying and panicking is even worse. He never seems to care about anything that happens to him, he puts himself through hell and doesn’t give a second thought to his health. But he’s really scared this time, and he’s burning up and his breathing sounds labored and shallow. Enjolras is petrified too. 

He’s scared that Grantaire has done it this time; he’s so thin, so much thinner than Enjolras had realised, and he’s so pale than his skin looks grey. He can’t carry on like this for much longer, he doesn’t look like he has it in him. He just looks like he’s dying, but Enjolras realises he’s looked like that for a while. 

The ambulance arrives quickly, but it feels like they’ve been waiting too long. They made quick work of pushing Enjolras out of the way so that they can cart Grantaire out of the house. 

Grantaire is reaching out for him, but he freezes. 

He can’t handle this anymore, he can’t live with the constant worry. He can’t keep going to work, then freaking out the entire drive home just in case Grantaire has gone too far. He can’t even trust Grantaire. He loves him, but their life is so hard, they’re never happy anymore. It’s not like there’s brief moments of happiness in the midst of it all anymore – Enjolras just nags Grantaire about eating and Grantaire resents him for it. 

“Enj,” it’s muffled through Grantaire’s tears and the mask the paramedics places over his mouth and nose, but it’s enough to snap Enjolras out of it. He takes one look at Grantaire, and he knows he loves him too much to leave him. He can’t leave him, especially not now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I hate this fic now but I made my mind up not to abandon fics anymore, luckily the next chapter is the last.


	7. wrap me up, and breathe me

Grantaire wakes up in a hospital bed, and initially he’s confused. His head is fuzzy, and there isn’t one part of him that doesn’t hurt. He groans quietly, then winces as the noise hurts his throat. 

“Hey.” Grantaire turns his head and sees Enjolras sat there next to him. His face is pale and devastated, and his eyes are red rimmed and have dark circles beneath them. Grantaire doesn’t have to remember what happened to know that he’s the cause of that look. Enjolras smiles weakly, “you’re awake, you’ve been out for a couple of days.” 

“What happened?” Grantaire rasps. He remembers running away from Enjolras when he started demanding an evaluation, but he can’t remember what happened after he finally went back home. The memories are there, just niggling at the corner of his mind, but through the thick haze of whatever drugs they’re pumping him full of, he can’t recall them. 

“You ruptured your oesophagus.” Enjolras says quietly, then reaches across to grab his hand. He holds it gently in both of his, that sad look on his face deepening. “They had to operate to fix the tear, and there’s some fluid around your lungs so you have a chest tube in to drain the fluid. Your heart was barely beating in the ambulance. They said you were really dehydrated, so I’m guessing you’ve stopped drinking now too. Your blood pressure and temperature are in the dirt, you’re anaemic, plus you have low blood sugar, low phosphates, low calcium and you have ketones in your urine. Do I need to carry on or is this sinking in? You could have died, Grantaire. If you carry on this way you won’t make it to the end of the month.” 

And then Enjolras starts crying again, and Grantaire knows he’s gone too far this time. He’s sick, and he really needs help. He weighs too much, but not enough at the same time. And maybe he really does want to have some semblance of a life with Enjolras that doesn’t revolve around starving himself. But he can’t be blown back up to 140 pounds. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologise.” Enjolras shakes his head and tries to smile, but the gesture doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s just... I don’t think I can do this again, Grantaire. I need you to take your recovery seriously this time.”

“What, so it’s get help or get dumped?” Grantaire snaps as firmly as he’s able to, but he doesn’t really mean it. The memories of what happened are coming back to him, and so is the fear. He’s gone too far, risked too much and he can’t do it anymore. He can’t keep doing this, but he can’t figure out a way to stop either. He really does need help. 

Enjolras recoils as if he’s been slapped. “I’m not trying to give you an ultimatum Grantaire, but I don’t know what the hell is left to do. Do you even realise how sick you are? They weighed you when they admitted you and you weighed 93 pounds. I have no idea what you did to the scales at home but you’ve gone too far. Your body was so close to shutting down on itself, doesn’t that even bother you?”

“Of course it does.” Grantaire’s torn between the despair of being 3 pounds off of his latest goal, and the heartbreak of knowing how much he’s put Enjolras through. How much he’s put himself through. “I know you think I want to die, Enjolras, but I don’t. I’ve never wanted that, and when I saw that blood I regretted everything. I’ve always thought that I was doing what I had to and that it was okay, and everyone else was just trying to sabotage me because they couldn’t understand what I needed, but I don’t know if that’s right anymore. How can it be?”

“Anything I’ve ever done, has never been to sabotage you, Grantaire. I swear that to you.”

Part of Grantaire believes him, but the other part of him is screaming that he can’t do this, can’t give up now. He’ll fake his way through recovery again and then start on his mission again. Enjolras will leave him, and there’ll be no one left to check up on him or make him eat. He can starve himself in peace. He stares at Enjolras’ face and tries to picture his life without him, but he can’t. What is his life without Enjolras? Empty. If he doesn’t have Enjolras, then what’s the point in any of this? No, he can’t let Enjolras leave.

“I’ll try.” Grantaire says slowly. That’s really all he can promise; this sickness is part of him, has been for as long as he can remember. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to beat it, or if he even really wants to. He doesn’t want to be forced back up to 140 pounds, but he doesn’t want to die either. He realises now that this will kill him, one way or another. 

Enjolras’ face lights up like a kid at Christmas and he plants a kiss on Grantaire’s knuckles, “we can do this, R. Together. You can get healthy.”

“You won’t love me anymore when I’m fat.” Grantaire blurts before he can stop himself. “I’ll be ugly and you’ll leave me.”

“How can you even think that?” Enjolras frowns, a mix of hurt and betrayal leaking into his voice. “You don't think that you'd be beautiful to me no matter what you look like? Do you think so little of me that you think that I only care about what you look like? I love you for who you are, Grantaire, not what you look like but I want you to be healthy, I want you to look healthy."

Grantaire doesn’t want Enjolras’ definition of healthy, but he’s too tired to argue right now.  
~*~  
It doesn’t happen over night. Grantaire doesn’t just suddenly have a healthy relationship with food because Enjolras wants him to, because Enjolras apparently doesn’t care what he looks like. His second stay in hospital is the longest one yet, but it doesn’t feel like a sprint to the exit this time. It’s a marathon, one that he mostly walks. He stops and sits down when he needs to, when he feels too tired. For the first time, Grantaire asks a lot of questions, tries to understand the disease that has a hold over his life. 

He has bad days, days where it feels like there’s a storm in his head, it’s those days where he sits quietly and waits for the rain to pass. He doesn’t play games this time, like he did when he was here before. He doesn’t do forbidden exercises in the shower, doesn’t throw his food into plant pots or hide it in his underwear. He avoids the patients that are still stuck playing games. He takes recovery seriously. 

The concept of eating is terrifying. The voices in his head are always there, always trying to pull him back into bad habits, but he tries not to let them. Grantaire puts all of the food in his mouth and tries not to count the calories as he does. The word fat never stops running on a loop through his brain.

His therapist tells him that food is life, and he tries to remind himself of that as he eats. It helps, because he wants to live. He really does. 

He has to eat a bagel, but he chooses to spread cream cheese on both halves. Because food is life. 

No one will tell him how much he weighs, and it’s probably a good idea. Last time he’d kept track of the number so much, and he’d freaked out every step of the way. 110 was hard, 120 was harder, 140 was the hardest. Not knowing scares him, but he’s working on it. He tries really hard to measure his worth by his strength, rather than by how much he weighs. 

Grantaire smiles. Not often, but he hadn’t smiled at all the last time he was there. 

He reads a lot, some of them are books Enjolras likes, but he enjoys learning about other things too. He thinks he’d like to go back to ballet, to stay fit, not to lose weight, but he’s not sure he’s ready for that yet. One day. It’s a goal, but a healthy goal. 

Healthy is the aim. 

He’s allowed out on a field trip with Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre. They go to a restaurant, and he knows it’s the hospital’s way of testing him. He orders a waffle with nutella and strawberries, because it’s his favourite and he hasn’t let himself enjoy his favourite foods for so long. Enjolras’ face lights up when he asks for more. 

“How are you doing?” Combeferre asks him when Enjolras goes to pay the bill. 

“I feel guilty for not feeling guilty,” Grantaire confesses. Combeferre doesn’t give him the wounded look that Enjolras would have. It’s easier to lock everybody out, but he doesn’t. “My brain is telling me I should go make myself throw up, but I don’t want to.”

He worries that he’s said too much, but Combeferre and Courfeyrac just throw him supportive smiles and tell him that they’re proud of him. 

He goes back to the hospital without kicking and screaming. He passes the test. Enjolras, Jehan and Bahorel visit. When Enjolras visits, they talk and talk until the floodgates burst and the tears flow. They’re both angry, not exactly with each other, but at the situation. Nobody storms out, nobody uses nasty words or points fingers. They take turns going over the years of hurt. Some days are easier that others; some days Grantaire feels as though he’ll explode because he’s angry at Enjolras, he’s angry at himself, he’s angry that he starved his brain and forced himself to sit in bed aching and shivering instead of living his life with Enjolras. He could have been dancing, or listening to Jehan’s poetry, or eating ice cream while watching bad movies under a blanket with Enjolras. 

He takes therapy seriously. He learns, mostly about how to handle his emotions. He learns how to be angry and sad and happy and afraid. He learns how to taste his food again, for enjoyment instead of for fuel. 

He respects the nurses this time and doesn’t lie to them. He doesn’t argue with them or throw anything or scream. He tells them when he wants to make himself throw up, or when he feels like he needs to hurt himself. Sometimes he argues with the doctors, because he doesn’t always think they’re right and he needs to believe in his recovery to make it work, and they listen to him. They take notes and ask him what he thinks will help. Sometimes they explain to him why it won’t, and he accepts it. He asks to be taken off of anti depressants because he hates the way they make his brain feel heavy and slow, and they listen.

The months on the calendar keep passing by, but he doesn’t feel like he’s wasting his life. His doctors start putting together a transition plan for when he goes home, because hospital Grantaire and real Grantaire will need different things. 

He learns how to knit, and spends his evenings knitting Jehan a jumper. He writes a letter to Enjolras every day and gives them to him whenever he feels like he’s built up enough of a pile. Enjolras is eager for him to come home, and Grantaire’s almost ready.

Grantaire is rewriting his own story, mentally paving the way for his future. Eating was hard, breathing was hard, living was harder. Somehow, he managed to pull himself out of that and accept the help he never wanted. 

There is no cure, this will never go away forever. All he can hope for is small victories, small steps forwards; an unexpected laugh, an easier day, a mirror that doesn’t make himself feel self hatred. 

When Enjolras finally takes him home, the meal plan isn’t stuck to the refrigerator, it’s tucked away in Grantaire’s recovery folder on Enjolras’ desk. Grantaire asks Enjolras to get rid of the stair climber in the basement. There’s more trust, more happiness. Things aren’t perfect, but they’re better than last time. There’s hope this time. 

For the first time in a long time, Grantaire feels alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's more of an epilogue than anything else, but it's finished! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this and especially for the feedback! 
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated :)


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